


Something Holy

by anastiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Sex, Frottage, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, POV Dean Winchester, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:17:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8494927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anastiel/pseuds/anastiel
Summary: Your brother wants to take you apart with his hands. To leave fingerprinted bruises on your hipbones; make you whisper his name into the dark, but not too loudly, someone might hear the things you do to each other.





	

Your brother wants to take you apart with his hands. To leave fingerprinted bruises on your hipbones; make you whisper his name into the dark, but not too loudly, someone might hear the things you do to each other.

It’s never planned, the things you do to each other, skin pressed against skin so close you might as well be one person. It’s never soft, never gentle, always dirty and rough, teeth scraping down your jaw, nails down your back. He kisses desperately, licks from your mouth, and you give him everything you can.

You’d give him everything if you could.

But tonight feels different. He doesn’t touch you when you both walk into the motel room, but stalks off to the side, pacing, his fingers threading through his hair.

“Sam?” You ask, and your body vibrates with the need to touch him, post-hunt adrenaline running high.

You came close to death tonight, sour reaper breath still lingering in your nostrils.

“I-” He starts, then cuts himself off, shaking his head, tugging on the long strands of his hair with white knuckled hands.

“Sam.”

Sam’s eyes cut to you, darting back and forth between your eyes, your mouth, and the blood stain on your coat jacket.

He sucks in a shaky breath, a bomb in the silent room, and crosses to you. He stops a foot away, his face a few inches from yours, breath skimming hot on your cheek.

“You almost died, Dean,” Sam rushes out, eyes boring into yours. There’s a slight press of fingertips against your wrist, on your pulse point. Sam holds his fingers there, warm and gentle.

“Not the first time,” you answer. You hang your head, and your forehead almost brushes Sam’s he's standing so close.

He tips up your chin with the pads of two fingers, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“I can't lose you,” he whispers.

Then his mouth is on yours, earnest and soft, a delicate press. His hands shake as they fall to your hips, gripping and pulling you flush together.

“Sam,” your voice breaks on the monosyllable of his name, and you cling to him as he pulls you down onto the bed.

He slots his thigh between your legs, urging them open while eagerly sucking a mark onto your neck. Evidence of him will remain in the morning, stark red on your paler skin, showing the world you belong to someone.

You’ll always belong to him.

He covers his body with yours, pressing down until every part of you is touching every part of him. And this, this is what you’ve always needed.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, mouth against your jaw, hand dipping beneath your waistband, fingers stroking down your cock.

His other hand strokes down your side shaky, earnest and you can feel the desperation in his touch, how worried he still is even though you’re here, beneath him.

“I’m okay,” you whisper, staring up into his eyes, “I’m okay, Sam.”

He kisses you, arching down, covering you further, and then he starts rocking with you. A slow pace of easy thrusts, the perfect amount of friction of your cocks meeting beneath denim.

You come first, gasping his name into the notch of his collarbone. The same one he broke when he was a kid, and you helped patch up with your own hands. Sam comes soon after you, whimpering against your neck, trying to bury his face in your skin, bury himself in you. It takes a minute for you both to come down, panting into each other’s mouth, trading lazy kisses back and forth. He his hands linger warm on you, even when he falls off to the side, pressed up against your side. A sense of peace settles over you as Sam curls up underneath your arm, shaggy hair tickling your nose. There can’t be anything wrong with the things you do to each other, you think, not when loving him feels this close to holy.


End file.
